Capital Crimes

by Jonathan Kellerman

  Ancient Vuitton valise on the rack.

  Eunice sat down on the chair. Slumping, as if making the most of her advanced age. But there was something sharp and distrusting in those eyes.

  Barnes said, “I have a few questions for you, Mrs. Meyerhoff. It has to do with some of your bank transactions.”

  Those sharp eyes narrowed. “Well, I don’t think my finances are any of your business.”

  “I’m sorry for the intrusion, but we had to obtain certain facts.”

  “What facts?” Her tone had hardened.

  “Generally, your spending is quite light,” Amanda said. “That’s why we were surprised by two recent withdrawals that were substantial.”

  “Two cashier’s checks,” Barnes added. “Ten thousand dollars each, over the last forty-five days.”

  “So?” said Eunice. “Last time I checked the federal government was still allowing me to spend my own money.”

  “We know who cashed them,” said Amanda.

  The old woman grew silent. One red-nailed hand scratched the other.

  “Parker Seldey,” Barnes said. “That’s quite a lot of money to give an ex-son-in-law.”

  “We don’t like him much,” Amanda said. “He tried to shoot us. We’re curious why you like him.”

  “You were trespassing!” Eunice blurted.

  “No, ma’am,” Barnes said, “Jane gave us permission to enter the premises and Jane owns the premises.”

  “Parker didn’t know that.”

  A pause.

  Barnes said, “That’s our point. You seem quite fond of Parker.”

  Eunice’s mouth screwed up. “Whatever issues Jane has with him, he’s always been a gentleman with me. What’s wrong with that?”

  “Nothing’s wrong with it,” Barnes said, “though I’m sure it’s hurtful to your daughter.”

  Eunice grunted. “As if she cares what’s hurtful and what’s not.”

  “She’s been hurtful to you?” Amanda asked.

  “I can’t remember a time she hasn’t been hurtful! Always taking up with bums or drug addicts—using drugs herself, the stories I could tell you. Do you think that’s a daughter who cares about her mother’s feelings?”

  “I’d say no,” Amanda said.

  “Darn right, no!”

  “Still,” said Barnes, “your being so close to Parker isn’t exactly sitting right with Lucille Grayson.”

  “Am I supposed to care about that witch?” Eunice’s eyes spat fury. “Always bragging, bragging, bragging about her perverted daughter. I think I’ve had quite enough of Lucille Grayson, yes I have. I don’t give a hoot about her or her lesbian daughter and I don’t give two hoots what she thinks about me.”

  “Is that why you’re paying for Parker Seldey’s defense?” Barnes said, risking a guess.

  When Eunice didn’t answer, he thought: Yes! Sherlock lives!

  Amanda read his mind, ran with it. “Your hiring Parker’s lawyer really puzzles Lucille Grayson.”

  The old woman folded her arms across her chest. “I told you I don’t care about that biddy.”

  “Your personal relationship with Lucille is none of our business,” Amanda said.

  “Darn right!” Eunice said.

  “However,” said Barnes, “Davida Grayson’s murder is our business. Parker confessed to killing her, so we know who actually pulled the trigger. We also know someone paid him to do it.”

  “Those cashier’s checks of yours, Mrs. Meyerhoff. We know exactly what they were for because Parker told us. And it looks pretty incriminating. The first one was issued awhile before Davida was murdered, but the second was issued and cashed the day after her death.”

  “Payment for a job well done?” said Barnes.

  Eunice chewed her lip. Scarlet lipstick smudged the meager flesh.

  Amanda said, “What did you tell him, Mrs. Meyerhoff? That Davida was responsible for Jane leaving him?”

  “She was responsible!” Eunice snapped. “If it hadn’t been for that pervert, Janey wouldn’t be doing sick things.”

  “What kind of sick things?” Barnes asked.

  “I’m a lady!” Eunice retorted. “I don’t talk about things like that!”

  “So you do blame Davida for Jane’s behavior.”

  “You bet your backside I blame Davida. She’s always been responsible for Janey straying—back to grade school.”

  “It wasn’t Davida who’s been married three times,” Barnes pointed out.

  “Of course not. Why would she marry? She was a pervert! And Lucille defending her all the time. Enjoying it—if you ask me she’s that way, too.” Eunice punched a palm with her fist. Not much sound. Small bones.

  She said, “After that biddy told me what Janey and her daughter were doing, I had to do something! No decent mother would do any less.”

  “So you talked to Parker about it,” Amanda said.

  “He was just as frustrated with Janey as I was.”

  “I see,” Barnes said. “You know, Mrs. Meyerhoff, I think at this point, we need to inform you of your rights.”

  “My rights?” She stared at him. “Is it your intention to arrest me?”

  “Oh, yes.” Barnes stated the Miranda rights and asked her if she understood them.

  “Of course I understand them! I’m old but I’m not senile.”

  “You don’t have to talk to us,” Barnes said, “but if you want to tell us your side of the story, now’s the time.”

  “We might be able to help you if we knew your side,” Amanda said. “But like Detective Barnes said, you don’t have to talk to us.”

  “I know that!” Eunice squeaked. “I have nothing to hide. I’m proud of what I did. I defended my daughter. I prevented her from further debasing herself with that pervert!”

  “Why don’t you start at the beginning?” Amanda said.

  Barnes said, “The more we know, the more we can help you.”

  “There’s nothing to tell,” Eunice said. “I told Parker what needed to be done and he agreed. I told him I’d give him money to pay off Janey for his cabin, but I don’t think he even cared about that. He was as furious at Davida as I was. I knew that Davida was a horrid alcoholic—God only knows how much she and Janey used to pack away in high school. I also knew that Janey had a key to her office. I took it one day and I made a copy. I told Parker to wait until the time was right.”

  “Meaning?”

  “When that pervert got herself so damn drunk, she’d fall asleep.”

  “How would you know that?” Amanda asked.

  “Because I had Parker install a hidden video camera.”

  Barnes felt himself go hot. CSI had torn through the office. A lunatic plants a bug and no one finds it. “Where’d he install it?”

  “Exactly where I instructed him to, in the light fixture above her desk,” Eunice said. “You know you can get tiny, tiny cameras no bigger than a nail head? I learned that from a movie and found the equipment online. She giggled. “Of my friends, I’m the only one online. One must change with the times.”

  Amanda said, “So you knew when Davida was asleep because of the secret video camera. Where was the monitor?”

  “I used to carry it with me, teeny little thing, sometimes the reception was fuzzy but as long as I was here in the city it worked fine. I don’t have it anymore. I have no use for it now that the pervert is gone.”

  “So what happened when you found Davida asleep?”

  “I think that’s obvious,” Eunice said.

  “Tell us anyway. Better in your words than someone else’s.”

  A sigh. “I happened to be in town, as Davida supped with Lucille. I knew Davida drank alone, at night, figured dinner with that biddy mother of hers would drive her to drink that night. I contacted Parker through his shortwave radio. It took about two hours for him to get down here and by that time, Davida had passed out.”

  “Who had the key?”

  “I did. I sneaked out of the club…those old guards
…not worth a plugged nickel. I met him outside and we drove to the office.” Eunice smiled. “I kept guard while he did what he needed to do.”

  A liver-spotted hand flew to one ear. “I heard the blast, it sounded pretty darn loud to me but no one seemed to notice. Parker emerged. He wore a long coat that concealed the gun and looked just like one of those homeless bums you people coddle. He escorted me back to the club. The guard was sleeping.” She chuckled. “Not that it mattered. Who’d want to break in and harm a few old ladies?”

  Eunice stood and offered fragile wrists. “If you get pleasure arresting an old lady, indulge yourselves. I have heart problems and recurrent breast cancer. I am proud that I helped rid the world of that witch. That is my legacy to my daughter. Go ahead, Detective, cuff me.”

  Barnes complied. More symbolic than precautionary. The bracelets were too big for her.

  As they left the room, he took her elbow again.

  “Ah, a gentleman! I’ve always appreciated a courtly man.” She smiled at Barnes, but he didn’t smile back. She let go with a big sigh. “Well, if you’re going to be that way about it, I suppose I should call my lawyer!” She turned to Amanda. “My cell phone’s in my purse. His name is Leo Matteras and he’s in the directory. Could you dial it for me, honey? Even if my hands weren’t tied up, I’d have some problems. Old alluring eyes just aren’t what they used to be.”

  24

  Barnes and Amanda found Jane sitting in a teak chair on the rear deck of her rented house on Oxford Street.

  The place was a smallish English cottage, beautifully designed and festooned with iceberg roses. High spot on the street; the Berkeley hills were verdant, the view across the bay picture-perfect.

  Jane hadn’t bothered to notify the DA she’d moved. Nor had she told them she was planning to travel to Europe. That nugget had come to Barnes by way of an old Sacramento classmate, a woman named Lydia Mantucci, who’d never liked Jane and had forwarded the gossip with glee.

  No one answered his knock on the stout, hand-carved door but a walkway on the far side of the house led to a flight of wooden steps that they climbed.

  It was late afternoon and cold wind blew across the water. Jane had dressed for a warm-weather fantasy: black, short-sleeved polo shirt, khaki shorts, oversized sunglasses. Her skin was prickled by goose bumps and she hugged herself.

  Intentional suffering? Amanda wondered. Jane had lost weight and with no makeup and her hair drawn into a high ponytail, she looked plain and worn.

  She wasn’t surprised to see them.

  “You detected me,” she said. “Drink?” Indicating a half-empty bottle of Sapphire gin and an ice bucket.

  “No, thanks,” said Will. “Nice view.”

  “When I pay attention it is. I got the place cheap because the previous tenant was denied tenure and left in a snit without giving notice or paying two months’ rent.”

  “Angry professor.”

  Jane smiled. “Angry assistant professor of ethics.”

  Amanda said, “When are you leaving for Italy?”

  Jane removed her sunglasses. The sclera of her eyes were pink, smudgy pouches had formed under the lower lids, and her eyebrows drooped. “You’re worried I’ll leave in a snit?”

  “The DA’s office sent us,” said Will. “They may need you to testify that you gave us permission to be on the property.”

  “I already put that in writing for the DA.”

  Amanda said, “If the defense makes a big deal out of our right to search, in-person testimony will be required.”

  Jane turned away and stared at gray water and milk-colored sky. “Plus, they’re hoping I’ll testify against Mother.”

  “Have they asked you to do that?”

  “No, but that was the clear subtext. I even received a little lecture about there being no filial privilege under the law.”

  Amanda said, “So when are you planning to leave and where exactly are you going?”

  Jane said, “That’s the linchpin of the defense? You people trespassed?”

  Barnes said, “Probably not but we’ve got to be ready for anything.”

  “Probably not?”

  “There’s talk Parker will be pleading diminished capacity. And that your mother’s lawyer will be delaying to the max.”

  Jane faced them again. “Matteras? He’s probably hoping she’ll die first, so he can avoid having to earn his retainer. Fat chance.”

  “She’s healthy?”

  “Only the good die prematurely.” Jane’s hands clenched. “Like Davida. God, I miss her.”

  She sniffled and poured gin and drank way too much and suppressed a belch. “Don’t worry, I’ll be there if I’m needed. In the meantime, I have to try something new.”

  “What’s that?” said Barnes.

  “Being alone.”

  “You’re sure that’ll be good—”

  “As sure as I’ve ever been about anything. Look at me, Will. Pathetic.” She touched her chest, let her hand trail down to her abdomen. Her legs were prickled and white. Long, sleek legs, legendary in high school, maybe still her best feature. But for the first time, Barnes noticed encroaching signs of age: spider veins, hints of varicosity, patches of pucker and slack.

  He said, “You look great, Jane.”

  “I look like shit, but thanks for lying. Even though you were never really good at it…think about it, Will: have you ever seen me alone for any significant stretch of time?”

  Barnes considered that. Jane laughed. Not a pleasant sound. “Exactly. It’s an addiction as much as any other.”

  “What is?”

  “Needing people. To hell with Streisand. Fools like me are anything but lucky. I don’t know how I ended up this way but I’m sure as hell going to try to find out.”

  “In Europe,” said Amanda.

  “Florence, to be specific,” said Jane. “I’ve been there with each of my glorious spouses. Mother took me when I was twelve, fourteen and sixteen. I figured it would be a good place to start. If I don’t fall apart, I can work my way up to some meaner places.” She laughed. “Maybe I’ll tour Beirut.”

  Amanda said, “Testing yourself.”

  “It’s about time,” said Jane. “I’ll probably flunk. Lord knows I’ve failed every other life lesson.”

  Barnes said, “Jane—”

  Jane wagged a finger. “Hush, bad liar. Right now, nothing is sure to churn my stomach more than reassurance.”

  Amanda said, “Good, because this is a business call, not psychotherapy.” Using a voice so cold Barnes had to fight not to stare.

  Jane’s face went white.

  Amanda stepped closer, took the glass from her hand and set it down hard on the table. “If you’re serious about growing up, losing the self-pity is a good place to start. Bottom line: you need to cooperate fully. If you don’t, you’ll be subpoenaed as a material witness and we’ll confiscate your passport. We need all your flight information as well as your addresses overseas, so start dictating.”

  She whipped out her pad.

  Jane said, “All I know so far is my flight number and my hotel in Florence.”

  “Then we’ll start with that. You need to know that if the DA’s not satisfied with what we bring back, you won’t be getting on any planes.”

  Jane tried to lock eyes with her but Amanda’s stone face made her turn away. “My, but you’re a tough one.”

  “More like a busy one,” said Amanda. “Let’s stop screwing around and get some facts down on paper.”

  Twenty minutes later, walking back to their car, Barnes said, “Aren’t we the stern, unrelenting authority figure.”

  Amanda got behind the wheel.

  As she fooled with her hair and started the engine, he said, “I’m sure there was a reason.”

  Amanda pulled away from the curb, driving faster than usual. She covered half a block and stopped, keeping her eyes on the street.

  “No big riddle,” she said. “I felt sorry for her. So I gave her what s
he needed.”

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS FOR MUSIC CITY BREAKDOWN

  Special thanks to Chief Ronal Serpas, Commander Andy Garrett, and Sergeant Pat Postiglione of the Metro Nashville Police Department, and to the inimitable George Gruhn.

  1

  A beautifully carved mandolin in a velvet-lined case was stashed in the bedroom closet of Baker Southerby’s house.

  The instrument, a 1924 Gibson F-5 with just a little pick wear below the treble f-hole, was worth more than Baker’s house, a little frame bungalow on Indiana Avenue in the west Nashville neighborhood known as The Nations. The area was solid blue-collar with some rough edges, lots of residents living paycheck to paycheck. The house was the only one Baker Southerby had ever known, but that didn’t make it more than it was. The Gibson, rare because it had been a commercial failure, was now a serious six-figure collector’s item, a fact Baker’s partner liked to obsess on.

  “One just sold at Christie’s for a hundred and seventy, Lost Boy.”

  “You follow auctions?”

  “I was curious.”

  When Lamar Van Gundy got like that—usually when the two of them were grabbing a quick meal—Baker kept chewing his burger and pretended that he’d gone deaf. Mostly that worked, but if Lamar was in a mood and persisted, Baker’s next retort was as automatic as voice mail: “And your point is?”

  “I’m just saying it’s a gold mine.”

  “Pass the ketchup, Stretch. Stop hoarding it in the first place.”

  Lamar’s huge hands stretched across the table. “Here. Drown your grub in the stuff, El Bee. One seventy, what does it take to impress you?”

  “I’m impressed.”

  “When’s the last time you played the damn thing?”

  “Something that pricey no sense risking damage.”

  “What, you got epilepsy, gonna drop it?”

  “You never know, Stretch.”

  Lamar said, “You know and I know and everyone knows that they sound better when you play ’em. You open up the soundboard a bit, who knows, you could push it to one eighty.”